The oldest one got out of my truck and came over. You think we can lift him into the back seat? He paused and studied the situation, and then he shook his head. I asked him why not. The kid shook his head again. He’ s too heavy, he finally said. Well, he can’ t stay here on the ground. I’ ll go and get Abel.
Abel, the youngest boy, came reluctantly. He didn’ t want to touch the body. I couldn’ t really blame him, but it wasn’ t right to leave the guy in a heap on the ground like a pile of frozen kindling.
Go ahead, boys, you take the feet, I said. I’ ll try to drag him a little and when I get him up on the seat, you just guide his feet so they don’ t catch on nothing. Can you do that? Is that pee? The little fellow pointed at the wet spot on the old man’ s pants. Hey, Foxy, he peed himself, didn’ t he? Like this was an important, and revealing, fact. Shut up, said Foxy. He grabbed the one foot, and with his chin he indicated that Abel should do the same. Abel touched the pants cuff and then put his hands behind him. I asked the older of the two boys, What’ s your name? His name is Foxy Loxy, little Abel said. Shut up, Abel. The boy was straining under the weight of the old man’ s leg. I got behind the old man, slipped my hands under his armpits, bent my knees, and lifted. What do you call yourself, I asked? Fox, the older boy said. The body started to move with my considerable effort. The older boy kept steady pressure on the old man’ s leg. Redd Foxx, said the little one, just standing there, not wanting to help. Grandpa called him Redd Foxx.
Fox or Foxy or whatever the hell his name ignored him. The lady in the truck yelled out the window, her voice keening, cutting through the wind like a chainsaw, frantic, and really pissed off. Youse should call the ambulance from the tribe to come and get him. I got to get home. Do you hear me?
Well, you expected what exactly, I told myself. I had no cellular phone. Another story. So we are coming from where exactly. There I am, trying to hold the body up when Fox suddenly let go of the foot. I gently eased the body onto the ground. So it was up to me to do something, I guessed, so … Then I recalled the phone booth on the corner of the building.
I yelled to the woman to tell me the number, but she had rolled up the window. A big fog of exhaust enveloped the truck. Go tell her to crack a window, I said to the boys, and get that ambulance phone number if you can. They stood there shivering. Abel broke and ran over to the truck and tried to get in but the woman had locked the door.
He came back over to where me and Fox were studying the old man’ s body. He was wearing a heavy red wool coat over a chambray work shirt. He had a thick leather belt with a beaded eagle head buckle around his middle. Levi’ s, hiking boots. A real fashion plate. A beaded baseball cap lay on the icy pavement beside truck. Poor guy. Who was he? How did he come to be here? What kind of life did he have? At least he didn’ t look like he had suffered dying. I didn’ t know a damned thing, but I could guess from the looks of the car and them scrawny kids and that poor woman that he had probably eaten his share of coon.
I lifted him up by the shoulders again, sat down on the back seat with him kind of laying on my lap, and then I managed to pull him back into the car on top of me. Fox tried to help with the feet, but when one of the old man’ s boots came off, he gave up. A toe stuck out from the sock. The toenail was orange.
The boy’ s dark eyes welled with tears. That’ s OK, I said to him. I didn’ t want him to think he was weak and not able to help me. Then it occurred to me that he wasn’ t crying because of that. I eased out from under the old man and got out of the car. Both back doors were wide open. Snow swirled in the vaccum created by several passing semis full up with logs, the draft slicing into the car and lifting the old man’ s hair off his brow. I smoothed it down and then shut the doors.
The boy was still crying. Fox, I said, patting the tassel on his stocking cap, go ask Grandma there if she’ s got change for the phone. All I’ ve got is folding money. He went obediently to my truck, knocked on the window.
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Naptime by Parker Matzinger